


For Your Smiles, My Love

by xxSparksxx



Category: Poldark - All Media Types
Genre: Canon - Book, F/M, fluff with small helping of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-19
Updated: 2017-06-19
Packaged: 2018-11-16 01:34:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11243559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxSparksxx/pseuds/xxSparksxx
Summary: Four occasions on which Ross brings Demelza a gift, after their Christmas reconciliation, and one occasion on which she returns the favour.Book canon, so not entirely compliant with TV canon.





	For Your Smiles, My Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mmmuse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mmmuse/gifts).



> As it says in the summary, this is based on book canon, set after the end of 'Warleggan' and before 'The Black Moon'. It does not fit between 2.10 and 3.01 of the TV show. However, there's little in here that will only make sense if you've read the books - only a few odd references, and the timing of events.
> 
> Beta-read by mmmuse, even though it was a gift for her :)

_i._

The week after Christmas, Ross rode into Truro on business. Demelza commissioned him to buy three pounds of sugar, for she’d used the last of the sugar in the pantry over Christmas, and also two yards of wool cloth, if he could get a good price, for Jeremy’s coat was looking too small already, and Demelza much preferred to have a bigger one ready for him. 

“And buttons,” she added. “Since you’ll be getting the cloth. I can get ‘em in Sawle, but there’s nice wooden buttons in Mistress Trelask’s shop in Truro, and since you’ll be there, anyway.”

“Wool cloth, sugar, buttons,” Ross repeated, settling himself in the saddle. He leaned over to kiss her; she leaned up to meet him halfway. There was a tenderness to it that he relished; a month ago, it would have been brief, perfunctory, a habit that they had both formed. Demelza had allowed him nothing more, and Ross had struggled to break through her politeness, her coolness. But words had been spoken, since then. Hearts had been laid bare. Demelza had allowed him back into her bed, and into her heart. They had spoken of it little in the week since, but enough to know that she, like him, longed for a resumption of the affections and tender gestures that they had shared for so long, in the early years of their marriage. And so this kiss was tender, and affectionate, and lingering. Darkie began to grow restless and so Ross had to break the kiss. “Nothing for yourself?” he queried. 

“No, no, I need nothing,” Demelza claimed. Ross lifted an eyebrow, but didn’t press her. Still, when he’d seen Pascoe and purchased her small items, Ross lingered in the haberdasher, fingering the bales of cloth on display and wondering which Demelza would like best. Mistress Trelask hovered anxiously, keen to make further sales, suggesting this colour or that, a brocade or a silk, the benefit of hair combs over ribbons for a lady, such as Mistress Poldark, with such rich, thick hair. Money burned in his pocket. Of course there were still debts, but Wheal Grace was producing so abundantly, and Demelza had been so reticent on their shopping trip, before his journey to London to see Caroline. She had barely accepted anything for herself. Ross had always wanted to spoil her – had frequently found himself frustrated by his inability to do so – and now he had money, now he could spend it on her as much as he liked. A week before, he had given her a brooch to replace the one they’d had to sell, and a ruby necklace because he had not felt above attempting to buy his way back into her affections. He’d bought them in London; the necklace had looked as lovely as he’d thought it would, around her neck. There was nothing he could buy today to match those gifts, and indeed he was certain she would protest such extravagance being bestowed upon her again – but still, he knew he would not be content to return empty handed today.

So he bought a set of bone hair combs, and allowed Mrs Trelask to persuade him into the addition of two lengths of hair ribbon, one in green, the other red and both embroidered with flowers. It was little enough, and he was more than repaid by the soft smile Demelza gave him when he put the package into her hands, later that afternoon when he returned from Truro.

“I didn’t need anything,” she said. “You didn’t ought to spend your money on me.”

“Our money,” Ross corrected her. “And what better use for it?” Demelza gave him a chiding look, but she opened the paper package and touched the contents with a fingertip. He couldn’t tell, from looking at her, whether she was pleased or not. He thought so, but could not be sure. He disliked the uncertainty. “You needn’t use them,” he said gruffly. “If they don’t suit. I was told the combs…but no doubt Mistress Trelask was merely keen to make the sale. You’ll be able to use the ribbons, at least.” Demelza nodded, but said nothing. To his horror, Ross realised that there were tears glimmering in her eyes. Hastily he reached out and plucked one of the hair combs from beneath her hand. “Here,” he said, smoothing it into her hair just behind her ear. “There, at least it goes in. I can’t have made such a bad choice after all.”

“Oh, Ross,” she said, and if her voice was thick with unshed tears, at least there was humour there too; his teasing remark had produced that much, at least. “They’re lovely. But I didn’t need them, you know.”

“I say you did,” Ross said, his hand still on her hair, fingers stroking through it. Demelza looked up at him at last, her eyes still shining wetly, but her cheeks were dry. “I say you did,” he said again. “You like them well enough, then?” He wasn’t entirely asking about the gift, and they both knew it.

“I like them well enough,” Demelza agreed. “Thank you, Ross.”

_ii._

“I was passing by,” Ross claimed.

“You didn’t tell me you were going to town today,” was Demelza’s response, her brows drawn together in confusion. “I thought you were to be down the mine all day.”

“And so I was,” he said, depositing the book of sheet music onto the table when she still made no move to reach for it. “But I changed my mind. I wasn’t needed, and I had a message this morning that my new boots were ready, so I thought I would ride in and pick them up.” His old ones had developed yet more holes in the soles, and repair was no longer a necessary economy, so he had ordered new boots. He had been glad to hear they were ready sooner than expected, for January was turning wet and bitter, and Demelza had insisted he change his stockings several times a day, whenever they became wet, to keep from catching a cold. It was endearing, but a trifle wearing. 

“Oh.” Demelza still hadn’t touched the music book. “But –,”

“Well, you’ve not played much lately. I was passing the shop, as I said, and I thought perhaps it was because you had grown a little tired of all the music you had.” Ross opened the book, leafed through it. Her silence, her lack of movement, began to put a kind of pressure on the situation. “I was passing,” he repeated. “And I – I’ve missed your playing. I thought some new music…”

“I haven’t been tired of what I have, Ross,” Demelza interrupted him. Ross looked at her, and knew why she had not been playing. He’d known it this morning in Truro, when he’d passed by the little shop that stocked music in sheets and books, halfway between the cobbler and Pascoe’s bank. That much was true – he’d been passing there, had not gone to Truro with the intention of stopping to purchase anything more than his new boots, but he had passed the shop. And this morning Demelza had been wearing the new hair combs that he’d bought her a week before. And she had been singing a little more, of late, though the spinet had remained mostly idle. It was not that she was bored of the old tunes; they both knew it. As an excuse, it was convenient, and certainly more palatable than the truth. She had been too unhappy to play, too heartsick, even in the last month or two before they had been truly reconciled, when they had been companionable enough but still circling around each other, a barrier still lingering between them. Until Christmas, Ross had not been able to penetrate it. 

In the fortnight since then, they had cried together, laughed together, spent most nights in each other’s arms. But she had only played her spinet once or twice. As a marker of her happiness, it was perhaps of minimal importance, but Ross had come to a new, and deeper, understanding of the ways in which his happiness depended so much upon hers. He wished to make her happy, now. More than that, he wanted to bring her back to the vibrancy of former days. Purchasing such small gifts as a book of music was not, he told himself, too crude a way of making her smile. The cost was little to his purse, the rewards beyond all measuring. 

“Well,” he said. “I’ve bought it for you, anyway. Will you play for me?” He hadn’t meant to ask, but he saw the way Demelza’s eyes darted again and again to the book, as if she longed to take it but fought some instinct to refusal. She licked her lips. Ross watched her. “You know I love to hear you play,” he added. 

“Oh, Ross,” Demelza said. At last she reached out, and drew the book across the table towards her. “You’ll spoil me,” she said. “And – it’ll take time to learn the new music. I’ll play you something else.”

“Anything you like,” Ross promised. He bent and kissed her forehead. “But you must play me something new within the week, or I’ll think you don’t appreciate my gift.” Demelza laughed a little, lifting her head higher so he could kiss her mouth. This Ross did without delay, but did not linger overlong. “Play for me,” he entreated again. “Come – I insist.”

“Well, if you insist,” Demelza said archly, “then I suppose I must.”

_iii._

“Ross, did you maybe order something when you went to Truro last, and forget to mention it to me?”

Ross glanced up from the accounts book. Demelza was in the doorway to the library, where he was working, and she was looking at him with a queer, intent kind of scrutiny. Ross was quite certain that guilt was written across his face, because after a moment she rolled her eyes skywards and exhaled a sigh. 

“Ross,” she began, “’tis very thoughtful of you, but there’s no need. My cloak has plenty of wear left –,”

“I disagree,” said Ross, putting down his pen. “It’s as full of mends as the bedroom curtains.” Demelza tried to protest, but he overruled her. “Perhaps you thought I hadn’t noticed, but I assure you, I have. By and by I mean to entirely replenish your wardrobe, my dear, but a decent cloak seemed an adequate beginning. For all your scolding me about my boots, your cloak is little better fitted for this weather.” He had been able to bear wearing mended gloves and seeing Demelza in blouses made of his old shirts, when there had been no choice in the matter. Now there was choice, and though providing her with new, good clothing could not be done in haste, Ross could at least make a start with such smaller items as a cloak.

“There are so many other things to spend the money on,” Demelza said, shaking her head, though it seemed more from amusement than because she was truly irritated with him. “You need at least one new shirt, and Jeremy will need more by and by, for he’s growing like a weed, and –,”

“And you object to me spending more money on you,” Ross remarked. Demelza fell silent, her lips pursed. “Demelza, my dear, we have money to spare. In less than six months, I believe we shall pay off the mortgage on Nampara. Think of that. Come spring, we can buy more stock for the farm. We can hire more farm hands, and another maid or two for the house. Why should you object to me wanting to spend a little of our new-found fortune on a new cloak for my wife?”

“’Tisn’t that,” Demelza said slowly, coming further into the library. “Or not that precisely. Only with the cloak, and my new music, and the ribbons and combs…”

“Come here,” said Ross, holding out a hand to her. Demelza came, and he pulled her into his lap. Demelza made a surprised sound, but she did not pull away. Ross could scarcely believe that a month before, this closeness had been utterly beyond his reach. Now it was his again; she was his again, truly. And if he wanted to spoil her, if he wanted to surprise her with presents, who could blame him? “Listen,” he said, “you have put up with much, as my wife. Much of it my fault, I know…but not all. I never wished to subject you to the kind of economies that have been necessary.”

“I know that, Ross,” she murmured.

“And so now that we have wealth, I choose to spend a little of it – only a little, mark you – on my wife.” He bent his head and rested it on her shoulder. “My wife,” he repeated, “who is very dear to me, and who has had little enough evidence to prove it. Should I hoard every spare coin, and in the meantime see my wife go about with a threadbare cloak? If music makes her happy, should I not always endeavour to provide the means for such happiness?” Her hand came to touch his face, her thumb tracing the line of his jaw. “Am I to be forbidden from cherishing my wife as she should be cherished?” he asked softly.

“Oh, Ross.” 

“My love.”

“If ‘tis truly that,” she began, “then I have no objection, of course. ‘Tis your money, you must spend it as you wish. But I should be glad to know it _is_ only that. If there were some other reason for you wanting to buy me these things, I should want to know. I mean –,” She twisted in his lap, making him lift his head to look at her. “I mean, if there were a particular reason. If you felt that you _had_ to – to –,”

“To purchase your forgiveness?” Ross suggested. Demelza looked a trifle guilty for having the thought, but he could not blame her for it. “No. No, I believe I have that. Undeservedly so, I’m sure.” He could not blame her for the thought. In time she would no longer think it. “I wish to see you smiling,” he said at last. “And so…” He shrugged a shoulder. 

“And so,” Demelza repeated. “But Ross, you needn’t buy me things to make me smile.” She proved it as she spoke, smiling warmly, fond and amused and yet still a little sad. “Us loving each other,” she said. “That makes me smile.”

“Then you must always smile, my love,” he instructed. “Always.”

_iv._

Ross took Demelza’s words to heart, and did not find excuses to spend more coin on gifts designed to make her smile. Necessary purchases were made, for the house and the farm, but he brought her no more ribbons or music, and though he could not forget the state of her wardrobe, he made little further attempt to provide her with fresh clothing. In time it would be managed; for now he taught himself to accept that she required no further proofs from him.

But when the first spring flowers began to blossom in late February, after a mild spell, he succumbed to sentimentalism and gathered a handful of stems to take to her. It was a ridiculous notion, for she had flowers aplenty in her garden and always had bowls and vases of flowers or greenery in the house, even in the midst of winter. But he allowed himself to presume that a gift of a bouquet, meagre though it was, would charm her nonetheless. There was, at least, no way she could object to the gift, when it cost not a thing except a little of Ross’s time.

At the last moment he shied away from giving Demelza the flowers directly. When he heard her footstep in the hall, he looked hastily for some receptacle, found an empty jug, and dropped the bouquet into it without care. Demelza, he knew, would be able to arrange them more presentably than he no matter how much effort he applied to it. That done, he hurried across the room and pretended to be looking through the letters that had arrived during his absence from the house. 

Demelza came in with Jeremy at her heels, the boy rambling on about something he’d seen in the garden that morning until he saw Ross in the parlour. Then Jeremy came running across to him, shrieking ‘Papa!’ at the top of his lungs. Ross had to laugh. He caught Jeremy before he could stumble, and swung him up, around, and at last settled him against his shoulder.

“Found a rabbit!” Jeremy said triumphantly.

“Did you, Jeremy? Did Garrick leave it for you?” Ross hugged his son closer and met Demelza’s merry eyes. She looked so full of life, these days; her vivacity now made it all the more clear how it had been lacking last summer and autumn. It brought him such pleasure to see it, perhaps more so for knowing how nearly it had been lost to him entirely. “Does Garrick still have enough teeth to catch rabbits?” he asked her, knowing it would make her indignant.

“Of course he does!” Demelza said at once. “Well – teeth enough, and claws. Though I do wish he’d not leave them in the yard, Jeremy seems to sniff ‘em out like he’s a dog himself.” Jeremy laughed, and Ross fought a smile. Demelza seemed to grasp, then, that Ross had been teasing. “Oh,” she said, huffing out a laugh herself. “Oh, Ross, you’re dreadful teasy these days. Isn’t he, my lover? Papa makes silly jokes, doesn’t he?”

“Yes,” Jeremy agreed. Ross laughed and kissed his chubby cheek. Jeremy grinned broadly, and Demelza came close to them both, kissed Jeremy’s other cheek and then, teasingly, kissed Ross’s cheek too. Ross lifted an eyebrow at her, but she stepped away before he could insist on more. “Papa, play,” Jeremy demanded, tugging at Ross’s collar to regain his attention. His expression was particularly winsome as he made his demand, eyes wide and lips pouting a little. He was an engaging child, now that he was old enough to do more than toddle around and lisp. Ross had almost lost this, too, and the remembrance made him hug Jeremy a little tighter. 

“In a little while,” he said. “I must do some work first. But later, I promise.”

“Jeremy,” Demelza said suddenly, “Jeremy, I need for you to get down, please, my lover.”

She had discovered the flowers, Ross saw. She was staring at the hasty arrangement with a strange expression, as if she did not quite believe what she saw. Jeremy was clamouring to know why he must get down, but Ross paid him no attention. Demelza lifted her eyes to him, and he knew at once that his sentimental gesture had not been a foolish one. She was pleased; she was more than pleased. Her happiness spilled out of her like a tangible thing, contagious even to Jeremy, who did not know why his mother looked so effervescent. He laughed again, louder and higher than ever, right in Ross’s ear. Ross winced. Demelza reached out and took Jeremy from him, and set him gently on his feet.

“Down, now,” she instructed him. “Mama has to kiss Papa, Jeremy, this very moment.” 

“Does he have a hurt?” Jeremy asked gravely. “Papa, Mama kiss it better for you.” He looked so serious that Ross felt no need to disabuse him of the notion.

“Yes,” he agreed, “she shall. This very moment.” He pulled Demelza into his arms and kissed her thoroughly. 

_v._

“I spent more than I meant to in town,” Demelza said, “but you keep saying I must buy myself new things.”

Ross tossed aside his soiled shirt and scratched his cheek idly. He must shave tomorrow; the stubble was in danger of becoming a beard. Demelza always said she liked it, but though Ross was willing to indulge her in many things, he would not in this. He disliked a beard, and it was at any rate growing too warm to be tolerable. 

“Um?” he said. “Well, yes, I do say it, and I mean it. And I can’t imagine you being extravagant, my dear.” 

“No-o,” Demelza said slowly. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, her hair a dark cloud about her face, looking impossibly young in her nightgown. Impossibly attractive, too – to Ross, at least. He had sometimes thought that familiarity must inevitably reduce one’s attraction to another, that the unknown must always possess an allure that could not be maintained by the creature who was known well. He had discovered his mistake, but not without cost. Now he knew that, even if other fancies crossed his mind, there was something in Demelza’s person, something in the unique make-up of physical and emotional form – the joining, as it were, of spirit and flesh – that was a source, for him, of continual and unwavering attraction. “That is,” she was saying, “the thing itself wasn’t dear, only the buying of it was perhaps a little unnecessary.”

“If you want my opinion, you’ll have to tell me what you purchased,” Ross pointed out. Demelza’s eyes were dark, even in the candlelight. There was a look about her that he recognised. Ross drew closer to her, reeled in by it. When he was barely an arms’ length away, Demelza lifted her nightgown up. Slowly, inch by inch, creeping up her legs, revealing – not skin, as he’d expected, but stockings. Fine silk stockings, tied on with a new pair of garters that were finer than any she’d had before, including the pair he had given her once. They were impractical things, not Demelza’s usual style at all, all frothy lace and ribbon, fitted for a lady of leisure, not someone of Demelza’s active disposition. Her legs seemed to go on forever, long and slender and elegant. Ross licked his lips. 

“I thought,” she said breathlessly, “I thought –,”

“Yes,” he said. “Yes.”

“Then you don’t mind – me spending the money, on them,” she murmured. “They’re too fine – I’ll hardly ever wear them. I only bought them because –,” She fell silent, but he could imagine what she had meant to say. Because once before he had bought her garters, and it had pleased him to put them on her, and so she hoped that he would be pleased once more. She was right, of course. Ross was pleased. He had always admired her legs, whether she was wearing fine stockings or not. 

He knelt, touched her thighs just above her knees. “Do I look as if I mind, my love?” He fingered the lace of one of the garters. How incredible, he thought, that he had been so foolish as to risk this – so foolish as to lose it, for a time. He bent his head and kissed one knee, the one with a scar on it from an entanglement with a tree, years ago. “Wear them for me as often as you like,” he said. “They suit you well. Though,” he had to add, “I trust you know you don’t need ‘em to hold my interest.”

“Ross,” she said softly. “Dear Ross.”

“Demelza.” He kissed her other knee. The garter came undone in his hand. Demelza sighed as it slipped from her leg. Ross drew the stocking carefully, gently down her leg. Then, leaving the other in place, he knelt up and kissed her. His hand moved back up her leg, higher and higher. Demelza sighed again. He pushed her back onto the bed, shed the last of his clothes, and joined her.


End file.
